"Thar ain't nothin', young 'un," he said disdainfully. "The beasties is quiet, and Jim Bowley ain't no tenderfoot. Say, them skitters 'as rattled yer. Guess you 'eard some prowlin' coyote. They allus come around whar ther's a tenderfoot."
Jake curled himself up again and chuckled at his own sneering pleasantry.
"Coyote yerself, Jake Bond," retorted Nat, angrily. "Them lugs o' yours is gettin' old. Guess yer drums is saggin'. You're mighty smart, I don't think."
The youngster got on to his feet and walked to where the men's two horses were picketed. Both horses were standing with ears cocked and their heads held high in the direction of the mountains. Their attitude was the acme of alertness. As the man came up they turned towards him and whinnied as if in relief at the knowledge of his presence. But almost instantly turned again to gaze far out into the night. Wonderful indeed is a horse's instinct, but even more wonderful is the keenness of his sight and hearing.
Nat patted his broncho on the neck, and then stood beside him watching—listening. Was it fancy, or was it fact? The faintest sound of a horse galloping reached him; at least, he thought so.
He returned to the fire sullenly antagonistic. He did not return to his blanket, but sat silently smoking and thinking. He hated the constant reference to his inexperience on the prairie. If even he did hear a horse galloping in the distance it didn't matter. But it was his ears that had first caught the sound in spite of his inexperience. His companion pigheadedly derided the fact because his own ears were not sufficiently keen to have detected the sound himself.
Thus he sat for a few minutes gazing into the fire. Jake was now snoring loudly, and Nat was glad to be relieved from the tones of his sneering voice. Presently he rose softly from his seat, and taking his saddle blanket, saddled and bridled his horse. Then he mounted and silently rode off towards the herd. It was his relief on the cattle guard.
Jim Bowley welcomed him with the genial heartiness of a man who knows that he has finished his vigil and that he can now lie down to rest. The guarding of a large herd at night is always an anxious time. Cattle are strange things to handle. A stampede will often involve a week's weary scouring of the prairie.
Just as Jim Bowley was about to ride up to the camp, Nat fired a question which he had been some time meditating.
"Guess you didn't hear a horse gallopin' jest now, pard?" he asked quietly.